Faults: Donnel and Cordelia
by Blueser-7
Summary: (Cancelled) A young village boy - strong of heart but lacking self-worth. A prodigal Knight who could have it all - but asks only for the one thing out of her reach. This is their shared story, one of recovery and bonds. Loosely follows the campaign, without the long and tactical battles - those are more Robin's thing, I reckon.
1. Chapter 1: Distance

"Donny!" His mother cried as the ashes of the village fell around him like a black snow. "You fool boy – save y'self!"

"Y-yer know I can't do that!" White knuckles trembled around the splintered wooden spear– the blunted, rusty steel pointed shakily forward. "I- I ain't leavin' you ma!"

"Well how about that?" A brittle cackle sounded through the burning village – like a rockfall on a rigid mountaintop. "I respect your resolve lil' piglet. Really, I do…"

The body belonging to the brittle cackle lumbered his way, casting a steep shadow which swallowed him whole. "But jus' look at the state o' you, boy - tremblin' like a fresh-born fawn. What are you gonna do?"

"I ain't s-scared of you none!" It was like speaking to a giant, the tin pot over his head nearly sliding backwards. "N-now get away… 'f-fore I makes ya!"

The thunderous cackle made his ears ring – the rugged figure easing the lance aside on his way down. A toothy grin, yellow and pocketed smiled at him, capable of consuming him whole. "Listen well, lamb. I'm gon' give you ten whole seconds for you to scarper 'fore I skewer yer mother on this here blade of mine."

That dastard grin started to blur as tears began to form. "M-m…a!"

"'less you wanna join 'er, I reckon you should get going."

His mother shrieked something at him. Her voice was so distant – as if he were drowning slowly underwater, sinking further with every passing second. He heard the fear, if nothing else. He could hear the tears and the emotion – anger, grief, shame – all of them, even if not the words entirely.

He couldn't run – there was no way he could. The grief, the guilt, would it ever leave him if he turned tail now?

The tall figure rose and strode toward the struggling silhouette of his Mother, held for the slaughter by two equally imposing giants. "Ten… nine… eight…"

What was he doing? His legs started to carry him backwards – this wasn't what he wanted!

"Sevensixfivefourthreetwo!" He laughed as the axe rose.

"Roddick!" Somebody threw themselves between the axe and his Mother – a familiar figure with a voice he had been hearing all his life.

"Pa!"

"Gods, Brook!"

"Git yer Ma to safety, son!" His father roared at him as he tackled Roddick to the scorched earth, driving a broad, calloused fist into his ribs. "Go!"

The words of his father rallied him.

Tiny legs scrambled toward his stricken Mother, the sight hurting his frail heart dearly. He mustn't cry, he had to be strong – for Pa!

"Come on mama!" He pulled at her frayed sleeve with all the might he could muster, but she refused to budge. "Leave it to Pa – jus' like always, mama!"

He knew his words were lies this time – but he knew also that they would work, there was no time for a standoff.

"Dastards!" His Mother wept as she finally conceded. "Damn you all to hell!"

The first few steps were difficult for them both, but his Mother eventually started to carry herself through the scorched fields of their village.

He knew he shouldn't have, but he did anyway.

Donnel looked back with fearful eyes as his dear Father fought against the ruffians, leaving the stricken Roddick writhing on the floor with shattered ribs. This should've been a sight to fill him with hope.

And it would have been too – if it weren't for the hatchet which was still buried deep in his father's chest…

* * *

"Pa!" Donnel bolted upright - flinging the frayed linen bedsheets aside in disgust.

Sodden and cold, he quickly sought back the blankets warmth as the wind howled against the outside of his tent – the rhythmic pattering of rainfall calming his pounding heart. The weather was not kind to the border of Ylisse and Ferox.

"Gods… again?" He rubbed his temple with calloused fingers, falling back onto the thin pillow beneath him. The nightmares were coming back - just as they had been just a few days after he left the village.

And his Ma.

"Gosh, I hope it ain't no bad omen." He twisted on the straw bed for comfort – had leaving been the right decision after all? Either way, he was going even further tomorrow – through Breakneck Pass and then to Ferox. Never will he have been so far from his family and home.

Turning one last time – Donnel closed his eyes to let sleep claim him once again.

* * *

"Rise and shine, Shepherds!"

The sudden unceremonious rattling of pots and pans thundered from outside his tent – tearing him into consciousness. The familiar routine of a certain Frederick the Wary.

"Especially you – Donnel!" The voice of aforementioned Frederick came from directly outside his tent, drawing the hairs on the back of his neck to attention. "Time waits for no one."

"Yikes!" Yelled Donnel, scrambling out of bed and into his clothes – never forgetting his trusty tin pot which fit firmly over his head. "I-I'm a comin', Mister Frederick, sir!"

The outside was frigid – the rain no less unrelenting. It was nothing Donnel wasn't used to – in fact, if anything this was considered prosperous weather for farmland. Maybe the crops he'd been planted were ripe for the picking by now…

"Just _had_ to be raining, didn't it?" A fiery-haired cavalier with an even hotter temper mumbled as Donnel emerged from his tent. "Damn the Plegians."

At her side, the sheepish Stahl scratched his head. "Yeah… I'm not sure it's the Plegian's fault, Sully."

"Are you an idiot!? Course it is - the work of one of those "Dark Mages", this is."

Stahl only grunted lazy acceptance, flashing Donnel a friendly wave. "Morning Donny."

"Mornin' to ya." The bed-headed farmboy returned, placing his steel pot firmly over his curly, purplish locks. "Lovely weather for my crops, I reckon."

"And yet not for soldiers – still, we will proceed." A gauntleted fist rattled his helmet, sending reverberations straight down his spine. The perpetrator stepped firmly into view with his dishevelled brown hair and sharp eyes watching him carefully. "You got changed quicker than usual, Donnel. Two and a half seconds faster if you wish for exacts – today shows promise."

"Reckon I'm glad what you think so, Mister Frederick, sir!" Donnel stood attentively before the Great Knight who nodded his acknowledgement.

"Indeed. You must be in tip top condition for the march into Plegia." The stoic gaze drifted to the horizon – the daunting cliffs of Breakneck Pass less than a days march away. "Her Grace's safety is in our hands. Mistakes are not an option."

The Exalt – Gods. Donnel had barely grown accustomed to being the in the presence of Chrom and Lissa much less the esteemed Exalt Emmeryn herself. Had anyone from the sticks ever even been that close to an Exalt before?

"I won't get in the way, Mister Frederick."

The armoured Knight was already leaving, pots and pans in hand – heading no doubt to rouse the rest of the camp. "That is why we train, Donnel."

Rainfall rattled against his steel pot as Donnel grabbed a sparring lance and headed for the allocated training yard. If he was to come good – he'd have to put the time in. Boy was he pumped!

* * *

"Okay, Donny!"

Donnel watched with a lump in his throat as the somewhat graceful Sumia twirled her lance deftly between her two hands – a tantalizing display of lancefaire which came before a combative stance. "Here goes!"

Donnel could've sworn she almost dropped it a couple of times.

Intimiated regardless, Donnel decided against the finesse and simply spread his legs over the sodden ground. "I'm ready for yer!"

The weapon he held was still foreign to him. He understood the basics of the Lance – even if barely but that seemed to do him little good. His technique was clumsy, predictable and his defence worse – and that was when the weather was hospitable.

Donnel grimaced.

How could he hope to hold off someone was graceful, gifted and beautiful as Sumia? She was lightning quick and a natural Lance-wielder while he was just some mucky old farm hick from the sticks.

A breath in, then out again. "Come on, Donny…"

The hairs on the back of his neck rose as Sumia suddenly sprung forward at great speed – the pokey-end of the training lance headed straight for him.

Thick rainfall hindered his vision as he retreated. How could he spar one on one when he could barely even see his own opponent? Anger rose. He grew up on a farm – how were the elements getting the better of him and not Sumia? With the utmost respect to her, of course.

He should've listened to his Ma back on the farm. He was a Shepherd alright – just not the fighting type.

"Wagh-!"

A loud, permeating splat followed – accompanied by the rattling of a discarded lance.

"Wait, what?" Donnel peered down at a Sumia-shaped body, face down in the Plegian mud. "Sumia!?"

He dropped to his knees, setting his own lance aside to tend to the stricken beauty. It was a known thing that the Pegasus Knight was prone to slipping, but he hadn't believed a word of it! Someone was graceful and elegant as her…

"Impffh okpfhay Donny." The defeated figure replied – head buried deep in the earth. Almost like an ostrich.

"Gosh, I din't realise what ground was slicker n' the Greased Pig Run!" He scratched his head. "I mean… fer one as graceful an' elegant an' pretty as you to go over like a cow in storm, Lady Sumia it had to be!"

A sharp laugh brought his attention an imposing silhouette amidst the storm. For a minute he thought Frederick had returned to reprimand his technique.

"That's a contradictory compliment, Donny."

That royal blue hair and trusting eyes of similar shade. This wasn't Frederick!

"Y-Your Royaltyship!" On his knees already, Donnel bowed his head nearly as low as the startled figure beside him.

"C-Chrom!?" Sumia cried with him – a mud-coloured face staring up at the Ylissean prince. "I- I mean Captain!"

"Peace, both of you." The heir to the Halidom of Ylisse and next in line to be Exalt flashed the two of them an exasperated smile. "Training is off. You can go and dry in the mess."

"Trainin's off?" Donnel scratched his head again, staring up at the imperious figure. "But Mister Frederick said what we're trainin' through the wind, earth, fire an' all, yer Graceshipfull!"

"Well – _Frederick_ is currently busy taking down some posters he thoughtlessly decided to put up around camp." The smile on the Prince's face seemed to edge on a grimace. "That, and the word of the Prince comes first – I would believe?"

"O-Of course! Understood, your Majestyful!" Donnel bowed in reverence to the Crown Prince of Ylisse. It was as if the rainfall avoided him on the way down – so bright of a beacon was he.

"W-will you be joining us, Captain?" Sumia had risen to her feet, dusting herself down. The coat of mud over her face failed to hide the scarlet which burned on her cheeks.

"Perhaps later on." Chrom rubbed his broad jaw, turning in the direction of the war room. "I need to review some maps with Robin first – please, eat well. A long campaign awaits us."

"I-I'll bring some food to you!" The struck Pegasus Knight called out after him. "Oh! And for Robin!"

Donnel could hardly blame the girl for falling head over heels for Chrom. He was strong, cool, charismatic, blue-haired, kind - everything. Plus he didn't speak like a hick or grow up on a farm.

"Gosh, I'm soggier n' a pig in slop." Donnel could already feel the water filling his boots. "Reckon I'm off to dry, Lady Sumia."

Sumia smiled at him – looking no less dry herself. "Okay, Donny – see you later!"

She left hurriedly as she could manage when walking like she was on a tightrope. "Don't trip…"


	2. Chapter 2: Connections

The furious rainfall had calmed to a dull dripping as the rattling against his tent finally ceased - it was time.

He armed himself with a blade and pronged steel – warily peering through the flap of his tent. The coast was clear, this was how it was going to have to be for him to successfully go under the nose of Ylissean Royalty.

Gosh, what would his Ma say for harbouring fool thoughts such as these?

A rainbow decorated the horizon as the uncharacteristically vibrant backdrop when the sun started breaking through the clouds, no doubt here to observe his sanctimonious act of high treason.

His steel felt heavy in his hands as he emerged – was this truly the right thing to do? It was for the good of the land, it was true – but what repercussions would follow a vile act of sacrilege such as this? He'd be hung, drawn and quartered by dawn most likely.

The risk of punishment was worth it. This was a cause he believed in – there was no finer reason for him to put his neck out this far. If he was caught, he'd go down singing.

He darted around the back of the camp – hugging the shadows cast by the mess hall tent. Vaike passed him by - dim eyes too focused on the ground to notice his presence. "Where's my axe?"

Rounding the corner, he hurdled the makeshift picket fence and stepped comfortably upon holy ground. Everything was how he had left it.

"I'm here my babies…" He whispered, dropping ceremoniously down to his knees. Such remarkable growth, this was extraordinary. "Heck, jus' look at ya – reckon I've outdone myself good."

He raised his weapon. It was time to reap what he sowed.

"Donnel Pothead!" A loud voice suddenly turned his blood to ice. "Caught you green handed!"

Donnel's head shot up – dark eyes wide. "Ack-! M-Miss Lissa, your Graciousship! This ain't what-"

"Did you think truly think that you'd get away with it!?" The younger sister of Prince Chrom strode vehemently toward him – treading recklessly upon his sacred ground.

"M-Miss Lissa, yer trampling on-!"

"Silence, Donnel Pothead!" A healing rod crashed against the dome of his pot helmet – putting his brains through a blender.

"T-Tinhead! It's Tinhead, yer Graceshipful!"

"Like I care!" Lissa yelled dramatically, throwing her arms skyward before bringing them back down for an accusatory gesture toward his steel. "What do you call these?"

Penitent, Donnel bowed his head – scalp touching the disturbed soil. "These here're my farmin' tools, Miss Lissa."

"Correct." She raised her rod again and Donnel winced as it blotted out the sun overhead. "And what were you doing with them?"

"I-I _was_ 'bout to harvest them pumpkins what we planted a couple weeks 'fore!"

"Aha!" The healing rod throttled him again – turning him into jelly. "Keyword!"

"I- I know, Miss Lissa your Honoraryship. I know - _we-_ went and planted them together." Guilt wracked at his conscience. "I jus' wanted to make sure they was gonna git done correctly. I'm real sorry, ma'am."

Lissa was silent. If the rod came down again he was ready and deserving. This was no doubt some sort of high court treason which'd have him licking the boots of Ylissean Royalty for eternity in return for her silence.

He didn't regret his actions. Farming was his life and the last time he'd let Lissa help him out it'd ended in a massacre of good crops.

"Say it again, Donny… without the honorifics."

His gaze shot upward. "W-without the what, now?"

"Without the titles." Irritation etched her voice, but only for a second. She refused to meet his gaze however, instead fidgeting with the her radiantly blonde twin-tails, enamoured with something in the dirt beneath them. "Without the… The "Miss Lissa's" and the made-up hoo-hah."

Hang on a second – those titles weren't real?

"O-okay, can do." Donnel swallowed. "I reckon I'm sorry, _Lissa._ Real sorry, that is."

Another silence. Gods, had he said something wrong again?

"Better. Apology accepted… Donny." An earnest, yet reserved smile beamed down at him – the midday sun casting its divine rays behind her. She was the picture of radiance – a younger sister no longer she could well have turned into the Exalt right then and Donnel would never have known the difference.

Donnel found himself stricken – failing to swallow the lump in his throat. "Gosh… Forgive my saying this, Miss Lissa but I reckon yer lookin' jus' as radiant as the Exalt herself right now."

"Donny!" The sun's rays may have shone too brightly as crimson decorated Lissa's cheeks. "I… I'm…"

"I speak only the truth Miss Lissa, I do!" Donnel rose and took a tentative step toward her – freezing the Exalt's sister on the spot. "Now… If ya would just budge over a mite – I reckon we can save one'o these here babies."

"Bab…ies?" Lissa blinked as she followed Donnel's gaze to the ground beneath them – more specifically the great Pumpkin she had her leg buried in. "Oh… Oh gods!"

That crinoline she wore around her skirt might as well have been a parachute. Donnel could have sworn she floated backwards.

"I'm so sorry, Donny!" Lissa's fingers combed stressfully through her hair, her dainty feet pattering up and down in panic. "I was _angry_! And I wasn't looking, and I-!"

"I-It's okay, Mi- Lissa! It's okay!" Donnel wasn't sure whether to console the Princess or salvage the pumpkin. He ended up flapping around trying to do both. "It was all my fault, anyhoo! I should've asked ya instead of goin' all hick purist – I'm sorry!"

"But… we worked so hard planting those!" Her animated tantrum came to a resounding halt – replaced by a front of sadness as she squatted before the deceased pumpkins, their heads caved in by booted heel.

"I know we did, but don't you worry yer pretty little head over nothin'." Donnel smiled as he brandished a small pouch of seeds. "My Pa used to tell me what good farmers always carried back-up seeds."

His little seed magic-trick didn't work as well on the Princess as he'd hoped. "But we're marching tomorrow!"

"Then we leave whoever stumbles on this here lil' garden of ours a gift! Reckon it rains enough here anyhoo."

"That's a wonderful idea, Donny!" Lissa clasped her hands together joyously. "Then we can come back when the war is over!"

Wincing, Donnel didn't look up from his work. "I- I don't know, Lissa – what'd yer people say if you was caught outta' the big city with some old pat-flinger?"

A loud huff followed his question as Lissa brusquely folded her arms. "People who would scoff at our rel- _friendship_ are no people of mine!"

Donnel didn't underestimate the value of her words. It still surprised him how much on equal he was treated amongst the Shepherds. There was not one single occasion where he could remember feeling judged or looked down upon – discounting Maribelle – who apparently did it to everyone. Still, it all seemed too good to be true.

"Well, shucks!" It was his turn to scratch at his curly hair. "Thank-"

"Shepherds!" The thunderous voice of Frederick sounded around camp – turning both the Villager and the Princess to stone. "Curfew is in effect – return to your tents!"

"Curfew!?" His words chorused with Lissa who seemed equally as outraged. "It ain't even turned eight yet!"

"The seeds, Donny!" Lissa hissed as she gestured furiously at the seed pouch. "Let's plant them – double-time!"

"R-Right!" He always had fancied himself a speed farmer and four hands were better than two after all. All he had to do was be _very_ specific with his instructions...

* * *

Breakneck Pass looked equally as daunting up close as it had from camp.

To the praise of many, the rainfall had ceased completely – replaced with a dry overcast which made the long, tiresome march to the eastern palace bearable.

Donnel had been raring to go by the start of the march. It was his first one after all – he just had to make himself useful in case the Shepherd's got fed up and offloaded him. Though admittedly think those laps of the camp suddenly weren't looking so genius on his part.

The rocky spires of the pass stretched high overhead, blocking out huge portions of the cloudy skies. The whole place felt ominously claustrophobic, like a gravelly hand around his throat.

"Maribelle?" Whined Ricken from just ahead of him – languishing painfully alongside the noblewoman and her steed. "Can I ride your horse for a little bit - please?"

The daughter to the Duke of Themis gave the wizard boy a sharp look from high atop the saddle. "You should know better than to ask, dear Ricken."

Hopeful brown eyes peered up from beneath the great, pointed wizard-garb. "Does that mean I can, Maribelle?"

"Of course!" Donnel could swear he saw something sinister in the curved smile Maribelle offered. "So long as your name is Lissa – and not Ricken, Vaike, Lon'qu, Gaius, Donnel or Stahl."

"Er, what about me?" Someone quietly shouted from nearer the back of the party, it's voice was sadly drowned out by the clapping of hooves.

"Ack!" A tired, lethargic Ricken continued his complaint – drawing a pompous giggle from the Troubadour. "Come on – that's not fair, Maribelle!"

"Oh please, bring your own horse next time." Maribelle absently flapped a dismissive arm. "You'll all be needing me at my best if you want my healing to be effective."

"Reckon I'll be needin' you to watch my back again, Lady Maribelle, ma'am!" Donnel piped up at mention of the healing – a sensation he'd grown too familiar with lately.

Maribelle's head snapped back to give him an icy glare – icier than usual. Did she know something he didn't? "Mhm, I suppose you shall."

Donnel chuckled weakly. Maribelle was the famous exception to the "looking down on people" rule – not that it bothered him. It was refreshing in a strange sort of way, more of a reality check than how everyone else treated him.

He wanted friendship with Maribelle – to prove that a simple village boy _could_ mingle with royalty. Not to say he hadn't been doing it already but… Chrom and his sisters didn't live up to the pompous image of Ylissean Royals which word in the village had painted for him.

Maribelle on the other hand…

"Don't be so hard on Donny, Maribelle!"

"Oh please, Ricken. Do not act as if you aren't grovelling for the stave just as much as he."

The march suddenly came to a sudden halt.

"What's going on up top?" Sully asked.

"I ain't sure I know." Donnel peered up to the head of the march where Chrom, Lissa, Robin, Frederick and some Hierarch had come to a halt – they all seemed distracted by something. "Somethin' what got 'em distracted."

However, when the eternal steel of Falchion was drawn from its sheath, Donnel knew what was coming.

"Plegians in the air!" Sumia yelled, thrusting her lance toward a flock of winged silhouettes which thundered their way. They were huge – like giants with wings.

"Wh-What in tarnation are they ridin'!?" Donnel had never seen a shape like that in all his life. So robust and powerful, the beasts coursed through the skies with wings thicker than the pot on his head. "They ain't no Pegasus'!"

"Those are Wyverns, Donny." Robin was beside him all of a sudden – eyeing the horizon just as gravely as everybody else. His hazel eyes wrought no fear however, only intrigue. Something about their tactician was special, that was for sure.

All Donnel could offer was a blank glare. "A what?"

"Er, think smaller Dragons." Even Robin's genius seemed stretched in this moment of panic. He pointed toward him as he hurriedly departed, no doubt to organise a frontier. "And just as strong, mind you – so take care!"

"Wha-!? Jus' as strong? Heck, that ain't fair!"

"War rarely is, Donnel." Prince Chrom was beside him now, Falchion in hand. "Ready yourself!"


	3. Chapter 3: Sisterhood

The winds of Plegia were vast in difference compared to what she had grown used to in Ylisse. Few would have even noticed the difference, or laughed at her for taking notice. But time spent on the great back of a Pegasus had matured her to these subtle differences.

It came to her as simply as a chef could describe taste.

Plegian wind felt poisoned. A far cry from the divine, feathered breeze which drifted across Ylisse. The very air across the border felt stale and rustic, like chewing iron - every violent gust like a thousand rigid barbs racing against her skin.

Cordelia stood her eternal vigil atop the Ylissean watch tower – the mountainous spires of Plegia to her west and the grassy clines of Ylisse to the east. Stationed as she was at the border between the two strained factions was a funny feeling. The western and eastern winds blew against her in unison – agony and ecstasy.

She allowed her scarlet eyes to close. With the sky came liberation – and a freedom to choose exactly where she wanted to go, uninhibited. All place but one, it seemed.

"Cordelia?" The wind seemed to howl louder than usual, but she paid it little mind.

She willed the time spent at the border to pass quicker. To be back in the Halidom amongst Prince Chrom, Exalt Emmeryn and her people was already looking a painfully distant dream – despite the imperious outline of Ylisstol barely a days ride away on the horizon.

Of course, to return now would be a pointless act. For Prince Chrom and the Exalt were currently headed for shelter at the eastern palace, which would frankly make a trip Ylisstol a complete waste-

"Cordelia – excuse me!" The wind blew loudly right in her ear!

"W-wah!" Cordelia whirled in surprise – casting her fluorescent ruby locks out over the border. "C-Captain, forgive me! I was just … _listening_ intently for-"

"Save it, Cordelia." Captain Sandra laughed at her with features aged from a life of battle. "Your shift's over – go and get something to eat."

Standing tall, Cordelia shook her head. She was the youngest of her squad – a title which she did not bear lightly. "That won't be necessary, Captain. I can go a while longer yet."

"This again?" The Captain's experienced eyes grimaced where her face could not. "Gods, just go and take a break – you look exhausted."

Cordelia's telescope was snatched from her grip as The Captain forced herself in front of her.

She glowered into the Captain's back. "Do you not trust me to maintain my vigilance, Captain?"

The telescope sagged slightly – a laborious sigh being lost to the wind. "Is that what it looks like to you? Did you even look at the watch roster?"

"Of course I did, Captain. I put it up."

Captain Sandra sighed. "Of course you did, Little Lady Genius."

The moniker made her wince. To be branded a nickname which reminded her of shortcomings in experience between herself and the rest of the squad vexed her. Was it so much to ask to be treated as equal? "... Apologies, Captain. I forget my place."

"Imagine having to be scolded into taking a break." The Captain shook her head, laughing weakly. "Get out of here already, your hair is making me jealous."

"Hardly, Captain! Your hair is far-"

"Cordelia. Please leave."

"At once, Captain." Bowing deeply to her superior, Cordelia briskly descended the tall watch tower – half-relieved to feel sturdy ground beneath her feet once again. That watch tower was old, the wooden supports groaning precariously with every tempestuous gust from beyond the border.

What to do next? The rations had been organised, she'd tended to the Pegasi and the armaments in the barracks were already shimmering with gloss – what more could she find to do?

"Did I remember to count the provisions?" She counted chores on her steel-clasped fingers. Yep, she'd done that yesterday night at quarter-past eight just after she'd finished refilling the water reserves.

Their camp setup on the border was minimalist, consisting of two large tents for the barracks and the mess hall – the squad themselves sharing a smaller tent between two. The temptation to withdraw to her half of the tent and relax in her solitude was certainly present, her drink-happy bunkmate was most likely absent.

Solitude was something she didn't want right now, however. Her squad mates were loud, sure, and they teased her nonsensically to no end which flustered her – but they were a good sound blanket for what depravity her mind could conjure when left alone.

The obnoxious rumbling of the mess hall was loud even from the outside. It was a wonder the noise didn't bring the Plegian's straight to them.

"Well, if it isn't our pride and joy!" The lively calls of her squad mates hollered as the tent flap made way for her entrance. Many familiar feminine faces turned from their meals – seated on rows of wooden benches. "Get in here, come on already!"

"Please, sisters – you flatter me!" Cordelia allowed herself a smile, perching gingerly on the bench alongside everybody. "Reserve such praise for yourself – you are all greater assets to the squad than me."

"Gods, someone get her a drink!" Sesilia, her unfortunate bunkmate hollered - her fast-emptying tankard slamming loudly against the splintered bench. "She's as stiff as a board!"

Cordelia frowned as a frothing beverage was pushed into her hands. A dour reflection stared up at her from the bubbling liquid. She had yet to try alcohol and truly had little intention of doing so. The indulgence of drink could come when she had finally earned her rest, which was not soon forthcoming – not with the threat of Plegians across the border threatening the very existence of Prince Chrom and his royal line.

"Think she's thinking about him again?" A whisper drifted through the mess hall – louder than all of the chatter.

"Oh yeah, she's definitely thinking about him."

"Him?" Cordelia's head snapped up, whirling on the source of the voice. There was no way that they knew… "W-what "him" are you talking about?"

"Come on, 'Delia~!" Hands suddenly cast themselves over her from behind, alcoholic breath tickled the nape of her neck. "You know who we mean."

Shaking the drunken fingers away, Cordelia clicked her tongue and folded her arms. "I'm afraid I don't."

"Lies!" Sesilia waved her mug in the air. "You say it in your sleep all the time – how can you not know!?"

Her cheeks felt warm. What was she, seven years old!? "I'm not a child. I- I do not talk in my sleep."

"Awh, she's so stoic!"

"Like the First Retainer herself!"

"You sully the name, sisters." Flattery. She couldn't be further from the First Retainer. "I am leagues from that level."

"You think so?" They all teased her at once, their lips curving into mischievous smiles. "Mhm, I'm sure _Prince Chrom_ would disagree."

" _Prince Chrom_ certainly would!"

"Wha-!?" Gods. The shame scorched her cheeks like a wildfire. This - THIS was the main issue with the Pegasus showing affinity toward only women – this talk of romance had and would continue to span many late nights in the mess hall.

Her feelings toward Prince Chrom were far more than a mere crush to be made fun of. Her attachment to him was unshakeable – they laid the foundations for her every ambition, every waking breath. For without him…

She wasn't certain if she would still be alive.

"I- I should go and check on the Captain." Cordelia rose, thrusting her untouched mug into the hands of her drunken bunkmate who sought to get in her away.

"Uh-huh." She could feel the playful smirks of her squad mates boring into her back as she left. "It's been about seven minutes - she'll tell you off again, you know?"

Cordelia ignored the calls that came after her. The Plegian wind feeling oddly liberating as she finally escaped the alcoholics den.

That they would pick up on her fantasies so easily - did she truly wear her heart on her sleeve so? A hand hovered to her mouth. "Gods, how embarrassing!"

* * *

The wind whistled from above the watch tower as Cordelia ascended the croaking wooden steps.

"That had better not be you, Cordelia."

She swallowed. "That it wasn't, Captain. I apologise."

"Very well." Captain Sandra sighed, gesturing toward a stockpiled crate. "Sit then – if you must."

"Thank you, Captain." Cordelia graciously seated herself, looking out over the mountainous horizon. Plegia might have been an oddly beautiful country were she not threatening war with them. The red, rocky mountains drew nicely against the sun – casting rays across the barren land.

The moment was quite serene. She would have been more than content with the silence, but it was the Captain who decided to break it.

"Cordelia." Captain Sandra's tone was surprisingly mellow. "Do you… feel as if you fit in here?"

What was she trying to say? "I do, Captain."

"I'm asking you as, Cordelia – not as a soldier."

"Then my answer still wouldn't change."

Amusement flecked the Sandra's face. "That's very like you. I … suppose I just want you to understand that even though we serve Ylisse first and foremost – we are a family. A family that you can count in your time of need."

Cordelia smiled. The sentiment was encouraging – she had still had plenty of time to grow more comfortable around her new comrades. "I feel the bonds you share. I want to do my part to strengthen them."

"And create new ones for yourself, I hope?" Sandra's gaze was intense – like a mother scolding a stubborn a child.

"… Yes, new bonds. I suppose so."

Cordelia had planned to say more – only for her breath to catch in her throat. "C-Captain!"

Over that once beautiful horizon, silhouettes approached. Shadows of monstrous creatures loomed, bearing great wings of leather and ivory which blotted out the sun, mounted by figures wielding titanic axes. Beneath them – an army marched on the horizon.

"Gods, they've come!" Sandra peered through a brass scope, grimacing at the sight of the force. "In such numbers, too!"

"What are you orders, Captain?" Cordelia had already taken up her great lance. It's polished steel seeking the blood of Plegian dastards who would dare trespass beyond their continent.

"Gather the Sisterhood." The Captain was already half-way down the rope ladder as she spoke. "We _will_ hold the border."

"Yes, Captain - I go at once!"

* * *

That had been the last time she had spoken to Captain Sandra, who had fallen in battle hours later – impaled upon the blade of Mad King Gangrel himself. The King of Plegia having had appeared to lead his army upon their meagre force.

They had been given no chance. There had been no survivors. Only her – sent at the Captain's final order to deliver the news that the border had fallen to the Exalt first-hand.

She had flown for hours now, carried by the stamina of her beloved Aurora – her Pegasus whose graceful white wings were stained with the blood of Ylissean and Plegian alike.

Cordelia's eyes stung – dampened with tears as the tempestuous cold wind assailed her – freezing her dampened cheeks. If she had been injured fatally – she may have well have succumbed to it here and then.

Sickness rose in her stomach. But she wasn't injured fatally, far from it in fact. Her sickness was one borne from the sacrifice of her knight-sisters who had thrown themselves beneath the falling axe to save her. What made her life so precious that so many would throw theirs away?

"Gods – I wasn't worth it!" Her sheet white knuckles choked the reins. There was blood on her hands, but it was not blood of Plegians, or her own – it was the blood of family. Blood which she could never wash away, or replace.

Would she ever truly forget those horrific screams?

To take her own life would be a disgrace to those who had laid down their lives in her stead. She had no choice but to live with the guilt until she too fell at the hands of Plegia.

" _Gods… It's Gangrel himself!"_

Those had been the sobered words of Sesilia, her drunken bunkmate – and what were most likely her final ones, discounting the strangled groans which had come to her from the tip of an arrowhead.

The sun was starting to set ahead of her – highlighting the great peaks of Breakneck Pass. The eastern palace was not far beyond. She wanted to weep and break down, to curl up in a ball and wish for death.

Gods, what would Phila think of her? She could see the degrading, pitiful looks in her eyes already.

As the pass drew closer – so too did the haunting silhouettes above it.

"No…" Wyverns filled the skies over Breakneck Pass. The vile dastards were here already – mounted atop their disgusting leathery beasts. "Plegian's here as well…?"

Cordelia fumbled for her lance. Were she not flying on the final order of her deceased Captain then she would have likely flown to her death there and then – taking as many black Plegian hearts on the tip of lance as possible down with her.

Instead, she willed Aurora to dive down – deep into the crevasse of Breakneck Pass, flying in the shadows of the great rocky spires.

So focused on stealth, it took her a minute to realise there was a commotion taking place ahead of her. Was this a simple bandit skirmish, or had the Shepherds been held back from the palace?

Her heart skipped a beat – her eyes widening as she witnessed her answer first hand.

With clothes of royal blue and a prickly head of hair he stood alongside the unmistakable emerald robes of Exalt Emmeryn. She knew only one man of that description.

"My Prince! Your Grace!" Cordelia brought Aurora thundering down onto the ground, her hooves kicking up dust and grit.

Flinging herself from the saddle, she bowed to one knee before the Ylissean Royalty. "Run! As far and fast as you can! More Plegians are coming, not a half days march behind you!"

Prince Chrom didn't turn straight away. He seemed shorter – and was hearing a pot on his head for some reason. Her heart had stopped hammering, something wasn't right...

"Prince?" A Village boy turned to face her. "Uh, I reckon what you got the wrong person, ma'am."


	4. Chapter 4: Spectator

"My Prince! Your Grace, run!"

Urgent words hailed from the skies over his head, carried on the wind by a stricken voice which rung in his ears like a divine bell, even as the great shadow of a winged steed descended from the blue skies.

Flowing, vivid locks of vermillion leapt from the saddle, landing directly before himself and Her Grace, Exalt Emmeryn – dropping a knee to the dusty earth in reverence. "Run! As far and as fast as you can!"

What was going on? Donnel opened his mouth to address her, only to seal it shut. He had no stake in this conversation of royalty. Although, it wasn't like spectating was a worse option either. It was like an angel had dropped out of the sky before him – a pretty, beautiful and pretty crimson angel.

"Peace, Knight-Sister." The Exalt spoke before he even fathom a sentence, ever the composed figure. "What is the matter?"

"More Plegians are coming," The armour-clasped figure of the Pegasus Knight trembled with strain, her armour plastered in blood darker than her sleek mane of hair. "Not a half day's march behind you!"

"Cordelia, what are you doing here!?" Another winged shadow circled overhead, before coming down alongside them. The Knight Captain Phila – the leader of the Pegasus Knights, to whom Donnel owed many thanks for keeping the Exalt safe ahead of his shortcomings - hopped from the saddle. "Tell me the border remains secure."

"That I could, milady… But it would be false." Cordelia's head remained inches from the sandy grit as she spoke. Even with her visage obscured, Donnel could sense the grimace that spread across her face. "Gangrel himself led his might against us…-"

That Mad King of Plegia? She clearly had more to say – but choked on her own words, clasping a hand over her mouth.

Gods, what had happened back there? Donnel had never felt so out of place – surrounded as he was by Royalty, soldiers and trauma.

"Please, raise your head, Cordelia." The Exalt's words were lined with a solace which glittered from every syllable like a gentle snowfall. It made sense as to why she was so revered by her people. "And recount your story, that you may be able to let it go in peace."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Even still, her head lifted only slightly, enough to stare at the boots of the Exalt and Phila. "… The end was upon us, but my knight-sisters begged me to fly and warn Your Grace of the coming incursion."

Whether she was aware of it or not, tears trickled painfully down her rosy cheeks. Donnel's chest ached horribly for her plight – this, _this_ was the true reality of war. For every glorious war hero, decorated and revered he'd heard stories of, there were one hundred of these broken souls who were stripped of all they treasured and held close.

"I should have stayed…" Cordelia's head bowed low again, her scalp dusting the salted Plegian earth. "Gods, I should have stayed!"

Donnel had to say something. He had remained silent this whole time – he felt useless. But what could some village hick say to an angel?

"Gods, I can still hear the screams…" What was supposed to perhaps be an internalised thought came out in a hoarse whisper.

"Peace, Cordelia. You did your duty." Captain Phila's words were characteristically militant, and while soothing in their own way, Donnel wasn't sure he'd be solaced by such words. "Your sisters rightly prized your youth. You've many years yet to keep their legacy alive."

"… Their legacy deserves far better, Captain." Was the muffled reply.

Donnel couldn't keep quite any longer. He felt obliged to give his condolences, even if he'd never speak with her again he just wanted her to know that he sympathised. He had likely felt as she had once upon a time. "I-I'm sorry."

To his surprise, Cordelia's head shot up – her teary but wide ruby eyes staring him down in anticipation. From her gaze alone the word "hope" drifted across his mind. Gosh, had it been that easy – was he some kind of wordsmith?

Words decorated her lips. "My pri-…?"

The light in her eyes quickly faded as quickly as they had appeared, as tears continued to fall. He felt her subconsciously stare him down - appraising him like a blunted sword, glare lingering on the dented pot atop his head.

The word "disappointment" echoed in his head.

"Sometimes fleeing takes the most courage, Cordelia."

Donnel was almost relieved when the words of Phila drew the attention of the flame-haired Knight away from him. Gosh, had he said something wrong?

"Now pull yourself together. Let the faith they showed in you give you strength."

"They were my family, Captain…" Sobbed Cordelia, reaching for her discarded lance all the while. "How can I go on like this!?"

Before any could reply, a familiar voice called to them – to Emmeryn. "Sister – the Vanguard is breached!"

The heroic roar of Prince Chrom sounded throughout the Pass – the royal haired Prince raced towards them, Falchion pointed to the skies. "Up there!"

Donnel looked up as the shadow of a Wyvern descended fast upon them – axe raised to make an attempt on Exalt Emmeryn's life.

Captain Phila raced for her Pegasus – but she was never going to make it in time!

"I gotcha!" Donnel put himself between the Exalt and the diving Wyvern, lance held out ahead of him. A lot of trust was put his way to help defend the Exalt – he wasn't about to let anybody regret it…

Gods, it was coming! So many teeth, the claws were thicker than his arm!

A lance suddenly whistled past his ear, potentially taking a clipping of his hair along with it. More like an arrow than a lance it soared through the air, impaling the Wyvern and it's rider through chest.

The two bodies dropped behind a crag – a cracking thud telling of their fates.

Donnel whirled in awe as Cordelia flexed her shoulder, shaking her wrist slowly.

"Excellent shot, Cordelia." Phila was the first to give credit.

The Exalt bowed. "Thank you, Knight-Sister."

"It was nothing, truly. But you're welcome, Your Grace."

While Emmeryn and Phila were full of praise, Donnel could barely open his mouth. A human being could throw that fast!? "Gosh ma'am, that was amazin'!"

Cordelia's gaze turned to him, red eyes displaying more ice than fire. She glowered at his lance. "Villager! You must work on your form, you could have gotten the Exalt or yourself killed."

"Ack, I- I'm sorry, ma'am." Donnel was taken aback. Had he done something to offend her again? "It was just happenin' so fast, was all!"

"Cordelia, well done!" Chrom caught up, sheathing the Falchion. "Thank you for saving, Em. I owe you."

Donnel was expecting to witness a conversation between two stoic warriors. Their individual auras were so powerful already – strength, wisdom, agility. The possibilities were endless if they were to stand side by side on the battlefield. What sort of enemy would stand before that?

"P-Prince Chrom!" The look in her eyes was no different to the one she had shown him for half a second. Hope, joy, relief – every positive emotion packed into one gaze. "It was nothing! You would have stepped in if I hadn't!"

Donnel grimaced. What was it with Pegasus Knights and Prince Chrom, anyway?

"Well, I don't know about that." Chrom laughed, drawing scarlet to the Pegasus Knight's cheeks. "I don't think I've ever thrown Falchion before."

"Prince Chrom, I am loathe to spoil the moment." Phila, ever the voice of reason interjected. "But is the Pass now clear?"

"Yes, with the exception of a few stragglers. Robin suggested we move now, in case of reinforcements."

"Reckon what I'm gonna head to the front, then." Donnel bowed low to all present. He didn't feel at home in that conversation what so ever.

Prince Chrom smiled at him. "You do that Donny, good work today."

"Thank ya, yer Majestyness!"

He could feel a piercing gaze in his back.

"My Prince, if I may?" Cordelia spoke unreserved, not silent enough that he couldn't hear her. "Are you certain a villager is a fitting bodyguard for Her Grace?"

Her words stung, but they were not without merit – Donnel knew that. Perhaps worse of all, he agreed. There wasn't a thing he could've done if Cordelia hadn't acted as she did.

The presence of Prince Chrom had rejuvenated Cordelia from the weeping angel she had been moments prior into a confident, prideful warrior in the space of a couple of seconds. The presence of Prince Chrom didn't erase his grief, so why would it do the same to hers?

Donnel wasn't convinced.

The figures of the Shepherds, triumphant in victory and without loss, appeared ahead – weapons raised in brief celebration.

* * *

Work. She had to work much harder.

Every crate of reserves Cordelia lowered felt like a ten tonne weight falling from her chest. Liberation came with every second spent stockpiling supplies, deliverance from the crippling guilt which threatened to rise with every second without manual labour.

"Rations, here…" The supply tent was filling rapidly from their campaign into Plegia so far. All of it accumulated without a single pillaged village – instead offerings from the war-jaded townsfolk who welcomed them with open arms. "Materials, there…"

Still, she took special care to separate Plegian goods from Ylissean goods. There would be no risks taken – the chance of the smiling townsfolk being a front to deliver poisoned provisions into their ranks was too prominent for her to chance.

"Phew." The tent would be bursting at the seams soon enough, did they have any spares she could erect?

Emerging into the midday Plegian sunshine, Cordelia swept sweat from her brow. The supply wagon was still packed with boxes which needed sorting, not to mention she had yet to shine the armaments or groom Aurora.

She allowed herself a sigh – not the days first. There truly was no rest for the wicked.

"Cordelia?" A familiar voice turned her head. "Ah, there you are!"

"Sumia?" The smiling face of innocence approached her – and tripped. "Er, what's the matter?"

The sprightly Pegasus Knight was up in a heartbeat. Cordelia felt strong admiration for her determination. "I didn't realise there had to be a "matter" to visit my friend!"

"Well, no, admittedly there doesn't." Cordelia scratched her head. A fragment of her wished to continue her labour – but she had few friends to call her own, to shirk one of the few to stay by her side would be folly. "I'm sorry I never came to find you straight away."

"Oh no, don't apologise!" Sumia only smiled at her. "It was obvious where I'd find you, anyway."

Heh. "Am I truly that predictable?"

A sly wink was slung her way. "I'm afraid so. Consider the Mess Hall for a change, I'd never find you there."

"Hah, perhaps once I'm done here…" Cordelia eyed the wagon again – only to notice a discrepancy. "… Sumia?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you set that tent up?"

Sumia's gaze turned to the extra supply tent which had seemingly materialised beside the wagon since she'd last come out. "Gods, no. I'm far too clumsy."

"Hm…" Cordelia scrutinized the tent. That didn't seem right – did she do it in her work-trance and simply forgot?

"Does it matter to you that much?" Sumia's cherubic face leaned across and obscured her view of the vaunted tent. She itched to politely move her aside, but held herself back. "It's less work for you, right?"

"Well, that's true, but-"

"But nothing!" Sumia's arms flailed at her. "In fact – nothing to all this work business as well, that's what Fredericks for!"

Those same wobbly arms wrapped intently around her now. "Come with me! You need a good, hearty meal, a foot bath and a massage!"

Cordelia laughed at her friends persistence, allowing her to lead. She was clumsy, but determined – adorably so. "Not from you I hope!"

Hold on.

Sumia said something, but Cordelia had already tuned out – the world suddenly took an eerie grey demeanour.

But what would her sisters at the border think? Were they watching her from on high in disgust, having forfeited their own lives in her stead barely a week ago? What right did she have to seek R&R now of all times?

None.

"Actually, Sumia…" Cordelia planted her boots into the earth, Sumia's physique nowhere near strong enough to pull her unwillingly. "Perhaps next time… These crates aren't going to sort themselves."

"Oh…" Her best friends efforts ceased, hands still holding her arm limply. She didn't turn when she spoke. "I… see. Next time then!"

"Next time." Cordelia smiled weakly, despite it not being seen. "I promise."

Sumia's fragile fingers slipped from her as she retreated, wiping at her eyes … Gods, was she crying? Guilt wracked her immediately – another ally she had pushed away with her so-called "pragmatism".

The wagon was still bustling with supplies, but… something wasn't right – not for the first time today. Crates were still vast in number, but a good four or five of them were missing from the last headcount she had run!

Bandits, thieves, hoodlums!? … Bears?

A low rumble came from within the supply tent and Cordelia whirled, thundering toward the disturbed flap and slinging it open. "Beware, who goes!?"

"Y-yikes!" She may not have spotted the pair of greyish pair of eyes which peered at her from over several crates were it not for the shimmering helmet that adorned them.

"Reveal yourself, bandit!"

A glossy steel pot bobbed up and down before a young man emerged. "I-It's just me, Lady Cordelia, ma'am! I wasn't up to nothin', I swear!"

Cordelia recognised the boy immediately – feeling embarrassment rise to her cheeks. This was the villager she had _somehow_ mistaken for her beloved Prince Chrom. How could she possibly do such a thing!? "You. You're that… Villager."

"Y-Yes, ma'am!" The short boy slammed a palm into his helmet in salute. "Ow…"

She knew this boy's name. It was on the registry when she took roll call last night…

"Donnel Pothead." Her tone was angrier than intended, her rage likely more self-directed. "What are you doing in here?"

"Er, that's _Tin_ head, ma'am!" The young man bowed. "S-Still, reckon I'm happy you was as close as you were!"

There were new crates on the piles. Had they been sorted properly? If Plegian commerce snuck into tonight's meal she would live with shame for the rest of her days. It was clear what he was doing here, but she decided to ask again anyway. "Why are you in the supply tent, Donnel?"

The farmhand grimaced, nervously scratching at his scruffy purplish locks. "W-well… I reckoned what you were goin' out kickin' chickens with Lady Sumia so I…"

'Kicking chickens'? What did that even mean?

"… I figured what it couldn't hurt none to help out with labour since you was doin' it all by your lonesome."

Cordelia sighed.

"A noble gesture, but wholly unnecessary. I have it all handled." The boy's intentions were surely pure, but frankly, he'd only get in the way. "Thank you, however, Donnel."

"But that ain't fair on you, Lady Cordelia!" He looked up at her desperately. He wasn't the tallest – if he were to headbutt her he'd take her jaw off with his steel pot. "Whys should you be doin' all the heavy liftin'?"

"I enjoy it." She lied. In the nicest way possible – the empathy of a simple villager was not something she wished for right now. "So please, uh, go and "kick the chickens" yourself for a little while."

Gods, she hoped that wasn't offensive.

"Why would I kick chickens, Lady Cordelia?"

"Ugh, never mind. Forget it." Cordelia felt a vein pop. That was what she got trying to mingle with a country boy. "Go and practice your lance technique instead – the Exalt could have died last time if not for my intervention!"

A grimace wracked Donnel's face and she felt the familiar guilt. What was she doing venting her frustrations on a simple village boy? He didn't need this.

He was clearly trying his best. Far more than she.

"I- I reckon you're correct, Lady Cordelia, ma'am." He hung his head – pot shielding his dusky eyes. "Correct as ever. I'll go an' find Mister Frederick."

The flap rustled with his exit, leaving her alone with a tonne of unsorted crates.

Cordelia looked weakly to the ceiling. Gods, why was she like this?


	5. Chapter 5: Special Stone

Where had that farm boy gotten off to?

Cordelia had searched every conceivable nook and cranny of the Shepherd's temporary camp. Gods, she had set most of it up – it really wasn't _that_ big. He wasn't in his tent, the mess hall, barracks, stable or even the vaunted supply room.

But she doubted he would return there after last night.

As the majority of her actions seemed to be these recent days, her search was driven out guilt. Guilt which niggled at her conscience. She had harshly pushed the villager and his earnest attempts at help away.

It wasn't as if she had full ownership of the supply tent either, in fact he had every right to help move crates. It would have taken her all of five second to explain how to organise the crates.

She sighed. Deep and long.

"Something the matter, Cordelia?" A sudden familiar voice lit her soul aflame like a match. She knew who it was simply by the goose bumps that decorated her arm.

"Prince Chrom!" She bolted to attention, standing nearly as tall as the Ylissean Prince as he emerged from the mess tent. Height aside, she was unable to bring herself to match his royal gaze "No, Prince. Everything is fine, thank you!"

"You're sure?" His smile was telling – it turned her legs to mush and her heart to a drum. "You've been sighing a lot recently – somehow more than I remember you used to."

"Oh…! Y-You've been watching, Chrom?" Cordelia stammered, fiddling with her crimson locks. That he remembered a piece of their shared past was flattering, but she still simply couldn't catch his gaze. The closest she could get to his royal eyes was the defined bridge of his nose, which would have to do.

"Watching, or listening? I could swear you're sighing louder with every passing day." Chrom half-laughed, before turning more serious. "And… This goes without saying, Cordelia, but if there's anything weighing you down - I would hear about it."

He gestured to the hustle and bustle sounding from within the Mess Hall. "We, the Shepherds, are a military unit – but before that, we are friends. And friends will always be there for each other, understand?"

"Y-Yes, My Prince. I do." His words reminded her of Captain Sandra's final few. Her head started to spin, feeling her cheeks heat like a roaring furnace. That simply his presence could do this was… Unbelievable. "I-In that case… If you don't mind…"

He looked down at her with those welcoming, altruistic eyes. Gods, there was truly so, so very much she wished to tell him… But what sort of legendary Retainer could she ever hope to be if she burdened her lord with her own paltry troubles?

That was right; Prince Chrom had an army to lead and a people to please. It was simply testament to his great character that he would offer her a shoulder even now. What troubles did she have that could hold a candle to that?

"… Have you seen Donnel, my Prince?"

"Donny?" His navy brows furrowed as he picked at his chin, seeming surprised by her line of question. "… I think Lissa may have mentioned him before heading out?"

"Thank you, Prince Chrom!" She bowed low. Every second spent in his presence was melting her hardened exterior to liquid. "I'll be going now!"

For better or for worse, Prince Chrom truly seemed to have no idea how she felt – despite the signs. A distant part of her wanted him to make the first move, to advance on her so that she didn't have to trouble him with her feelings. Gods, he was dense.

"I… haven't told you were she went yet, Cordelia." Chrom stopped her in the middle of her tall strides.

Gods, she was a fool! Her weak attempt at a laugh didn't convince anybody. "A-Ah, of course not!"

"Hah… Well, she was saying something about a "special stone outside of camp?"." The Prince of Ylisse scratched his head sheepishly. "I… I don't really get it myself – maybe you do?"

"Like a Dragonstone?" Cordelia wracked her brain as Chrom threw his shoulders in the air. "Not so, My Prince."

"Well, let me know what you find. Frankly, I could use someone watching over Lissa – she's been running off an awful lot lately."

An excuse to see him again! "Y-Yes, my Prince – I will watch over her day and night!"

"Er, hang on Cordelia, that's a bit f- Wait!"

* * *

Aurora flapped her divine, heavenly wings to carry them sailing through the dusty Plegian air.

The sun shone brightly in the cloudless blue sky – but Cordelia's gaze was glued firmly down on the yellow, sandy desert below them.

Honestly, it was as if they were trying to make her turn grey. The fact Donnel and Lissa were wandering unauthorized outside of camp in enemy territory was bad enough – but the fact one of them Ylissean _royalty_ was inexcusable!

Prince Chrom naturally held his sister in great trust – as did she, but Plegian ambushers could never be accounted for, no matter how capable.

"Special stone…" She mumbled, shaking her head. Where would they go to look for a special stone?

Suddenly, two silhouettes caught her eye, slogging across the dunes of Plegia. With a snap of the reins, she guided Aurora directly towards them.

The sun was reflecting bright in her eyes – deflecting from a shiny metal pot in the middle of the desert. There was quite literally only one person in the whole of Plegia who that could be.

"Lissa, Donnel!" Her booming voice carried across the open air as the two silhouettes turned to squint up at her. "What are you doing!?"

"Lady Cordelia!" Donnel called out to her in shock as she brought Aurora to a halt before them. "What in heck are ya doin' here?"

"Prince Chrom sent me to find you both." She lied. "This is hardly the safest place to roam."

"Chrom, did?" Lissa furrowed her brow. "But I told him I was going out!"

"A-Ah, well – he must have forgotten, you know how Chrom can be." Cordelia laughed weakly, before coarsely changing the subject. "Regardless – do you two have any idea how dangerous it is out here!? What if something happened?"

"Awh, come on, Cordelia – we're fine, see?" The Prince's sister blew air out her nose, dancing a neat little pirouette. She was plastered in sand. "Ta-da!"

Donnel was nothing so casual, remonstrating himself before her. His words were apologetic, but bore no regret. "Yikes, I'm awful sorry, Lady Cordelia. But I reckon I had to come, I did!"

"And why was that, Donnel?"

"My special stone!" He grimaced, eyes twinkling with regret. "I'm a such gosh darn hick what I went and lost it!"

Before she could throttle him over the dome for dragging royalty out of camp for a rock, Lissa herself stepped in front of her. "Yeah, it's really important to him!"

Cordelia sighed, exorcising all unjust anger before addressing the two of them again. If Lissa was so convinced that this was a cause worth risking life and limb for, how could she argue? "Very well, describe it to me."

"Um, well… Let's see here…" Donnel rubbed his chin sagely, as if he was actually about to describe a rock to her. "I reckon its… say, sixty-four millimetres big an' a sorta grey-ish colour. Kinda like it's gone an' caught the pox."

"Right…" Surprisingly, she had conjured an image of what it looked like based on what Donnel had told her. The only issue was… It looked like a stone. "I'll see what I can find, you two head back to camp."

"No can do, ma'am!" Donnel was stalwart in his approach once again, gaze already back to the dusty sands beneath them. His fingers sifted through the golden desert, seizing every rock and stone in sight for inspection. "It's one'a the few things I got in this world what's special. I ain't lettin' it go so easily."

She was partly moved by his declaration, but it didn't betray the fact that they were still looking for a very particular rock in a desert full of the things. Still… her original plan had been to offer Donnel training in return for his forgiveness.

A favour was a favour, no matter what the form and if this stone meant so much to him – she would find it and patch the wound between them.

* * *

She couldn't find it. By the gods, it was nowhere to be seen.

"Special stone… Special stone…" She repeated the words like an incantation, convinced that it would suddenly appear in her palm in due time. "Special stone… Gods, where is it!?"

The sun was setting across Plegia, casting an auburn glow over the desert. It might have been a beautiful spectacle, were her head not buried in the sand like an ostrich.

"Any luck, Donny?"

"None, Lissa." The defeated tone in Donnel's voice only spurred her on.

It was maddening. Surely there weren't any more stones left on the planet? She could build a statue out of all the "not-special" rocks she'd found. It almost felt wasteful just to leave them piled up beside her.

Her fingers suddenly found purchase beneath the golden sands. Bloodshot eyes lit up as she ripped it from the earth, holding it aloft. "Donnel – how about this one!?"

The farm boy came galivanting over, sliding to his knees to inspect the coarse rock in her now scabby, calloused palm – chipped away at by the brittle desert.

"Hmm…" His dusky eyes studied the rock, taking in every curve and bump over its pumiced surface. His face suddenly fell, as did her spirit upon seeing it. "Nope, that ain't it … Gosh, I'm sorry, Lady Cordelia!"

"Don't apologise, Donnel." She actually wanted to throttle the boy here and there. How could he lose his special stone in the middle of a desert!? Take better care of your belongings! "We're going to find it."

Her boots were full of sand, her armour was full of sand, her hair had _changed_ colour. If she were to collapse in the desert now she would probably blend in and be presumed dead. Everything itched to the point where she wanted to scratch herself until she bled.

"Donny, how about this one?" Lissa was somehow still with them. Her spunky demeanour had since left them long ago – replaced with the lethargic princess persona which often came about in harsh conditions.

Cordelia continued digging, she knew what the answer was going to be.

"Ack, shucks – that ain't it. Sorry Lissa."

Ignorant of the following groans, her fingers fell suddenly upon a perfect specimen. This one… it felt special. Smooth in texture, perfectly rounded without any craters or imperfections. This was the perfect rock; sickly coloured, sixty-four millimetres large. The special stone!

"Donny!" She thrust the rock towards him, willing with all of her might that this might be the end of their venture. "This one!"

Donnel left an afterimage as he hurtled toward her, peering at the stone with widened eyes. "Lady Cordelia… This…"

He took it from her, turning it over in his hands. He weighed it, juggled it, tasted it…? "This… This…"

Never had she heard such deafening silence. Lissa watched from behind them, fingers intertwined in royal hope – a shared hope.

"Shucks, this ain't it…"

Cordelia collapsed with a unladylike grunt.

"Ughh, I want to go to bed!" Lissa wailed in despair, stamping her feet against the disturbed sand. "I'm so tired, Donny!"

"Y-Yer right…" Donnel suddenly announced after a brief pause. He rose to his feet sombrely. "I'm sorry, I've kept yer both here long enough, I reckon."

"Wait, actually!" Lissa suddenly seemed guilty, but her tone was unconvincing. "N-No, Donny, I was just kidding! I could go for hours… Yeah! Stones, woo!"

"No, I reckon that's enough, Miss Lissa." Cordelia rose as Donnel turned to address her. "An' you too, Lady Cordelia."

"Donnel…" She matched his sandy gaze, getting up off her knees for the first time in a long while. "Are you giving in?"

"No… But I jus' can't stand draggin' yer both down with me." Her own dour reflection stared back at her from his steel pot as Donnel bowed his head. "Thank ya for everything what you done so far – I mean it."

Cordelia felt conflicted. Whatever the origin, the stone was clearly a precious memento – yet they had searched for so long, to no avail. Despite her front, Lissa, Chrom's sister was clearly tiring.

"Alright, come on Lissa – let's get you back to camp." Cordelia let out a sharp whistle, summoning the shadow of Aurora to come sailing down to pick them up.

"B-But, Cordelia…" Lissa shared a pitying glance with Donnel as she approached the Pegasus. "We can't leave, Donny!"

"I reckon what I'll be fine." Donnel chimed in, waving at them as Cordelia guided Aurora into the air. "Sleep tight will ya!"

As the silhouette of Donnel disappeared into the darkening desert, Cordelia felt a sorrowful tug of her sleeve. "I feel terrible…"

"Don't feel bad, Lissa." Cordelia sighed, guiding them toward their camp setup. "I'm going back when I've dropped you off."


End file.
